Dreaming Wide Awake
by FinalError
Summary: PRESLASH [ HPDM ] Harry's dreams are getting worse at night. Draco's are getting worse during the day. As strange events unfold and they are landed in detention till Christmas, they think they're starting to get what's going on. They're only more lost.
1. Prelude

**Dreaming Wide Awake  
**

Harry staggered back from the blow, winded and gasping for air. His knees weak from attempts to dodge spells and flying objects, he was unable to keep himself standing any longer. He fell, scraping his knuckles against the cobblestone floor as he reached out in vain towards his wand. It had flown out of his hand from a disarm spell that stung up his whole arm, and it now lay just feet away from him. 

His fingers couldn't make it- he willed his arm to move further, trying his wrack his brain for any spells that would summon his wand to him- but in his panic he stumbled over a spell that started with an 'A', never quite getting it right. His 'trial-and-error' spells did nothing to help. He looked to the side, catching a glimpse of Hermione's motionless body in a heap across the room. She would know the spell, but she wouldn't be much help now, being unconscious- or worse. Harry didn't want to think of it. He didn't have time as his attacker neared him, Hogwarts robes billowing around his feet.

He gave one final lurch for his wand- he had to get it this time. This was his chance to save his friends or they would die. Dark thoughts filled his mind as his fingers met stone again, just centimeters from his wand. All thoughts of spells left his mind and he returned to the natural instinct of doing this the muggle way- a bad habit from being brought up as one for eleven years.

This was his downfall.

Harry cried out as a heavy boot stepped on his hand, the last of his energy wasted on futile squirming and writhing. Through squinted eyes he could make out Ron's lifeless body also on the ground across the room. This couldn't be happening! The boot twisted and Harry tried to scream but he choked on the noise as he looked up into his snarling opponent, strangely surprised to see that it was his long-time rival, Draco Malfoy- but something wasn't right about him. The scar on Harry's head burned, and as his vision blurred; he thought he could see green flames licking at Malfoy's silhouette, the manic laughter of Voldemort coming out of the blonde's mouth as he pointed his wand at Harry, ready to deliver the finishing blow…

Harry woke with a start, panting, cold sweat trickling down his back. His scar stung like salt in an open wound, and he placed his hands against his forehead, trying to numb the pain. Hedwig hooted softly from her cage, concerned. Harry simply stared at his hands in disbelief. He was used to this dream- he had been having it every night this whole summer, and feared it may be a premonition. But what really scared him was that when he looked at his hands after holding his forehead, the damp on his hands wasn't sweat like before. His fingers were red.

His scar was bleeding.

* * *

I entered a competition in a newspaper that was to write a 500 word story about Harry Potter, which was meant to be the first page of a book, and the prize was to get to go to the book launch at Edinburgh Castle on July 15th, 16th and 17th. This story won me that chance and I got to meet JKRowling, so I thought I'd upload this here to see what other people think. 

Now, a year after I wrote this competition piece, I'm continuing it on. Eventually the story will become slash, following the relationship of Harry and Draco- however I need to break down their barriers, build up a friendship and let it flourish before that can happen, so for now it is preslash. I hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** FANfiction. I don't own much here besides my ideas. And a signed copy of book six. -cough-**  
**

**Note: **This story is a very loose cross-over with my favourite movie. If you can figure out which movie it is, you rock. :D


	2. They Made Me Do It

Members of the Ministry of Magic's Accident Unit were crawling over the disaster that was the remnants of the 6th year Slytherin dormitories. Hogwart's ancient stone walls lay crumbled inside the room, the four-poster bed that should have been there now flattened to splinters under the weight. The rest of the room was littered with stone and scorch marks- whatever had caused the devastation had obviously exploded after impact. Had anyone been sleeping in that bed the night before, they would be observing as a translucent ghost as the Accident Unit attempted to piece together the evidence to decipher what happened.

However, despite how pale he was, Draco Malfoy was not a ghost, nor was he dead. Bored slate eyes stared back at him as he brushed his hair back, his face showing no recognition of his sleeping quarters being demolished the night before last. Turning his attention down to the bathroom's small counter, he plucked a small pill packet up, examining it. Just like the last packet he got, there was no writing on it saying what they were and no brand names emblazoned anywhere. He shrugged at himself in the mirror before taking a pill out and popping it into his mouth. Checking his appearance briefly, he turned on his heel and left for the Great Hall.

The same headline was emblazoned _everywhere_- he tried to ignore it as he sat at the Slytherin table between Pansy Parkinson and Vincent Crabbe. Across from him, Gregory Goyle beamed at him excitedly and thrust the dreaded heading under his nose, crumbs of his toaster pastry scattered across the words 'DRACO CHEATS DEATH'.

"Look! You're on the front page of the Prophet!"

Draco pushed the offending paper away from him, sneering at his friend's stupidity over the table, "Don't you think I know that? I'm also on the front cover of every other newspaper if you haven't noticed."

Pansy sidled up next to the blonde, handing him a piece of buttered toast and moving to pour him a cup of tea, "You're so dense Greg, of course he'll know he's on the front page of the Prophet. If Potter makes headlines for having a cold, a Malfoy can make front page too. Why, only last week…"

Draco chose to ignore her as he took a bite of his toast, looking up to meet green eyes across the hall, the owner of which was lowering a goblet of pumpkin juice from his mouth. The two shared a look for a moment, narrowing their eyes into their usual glare, before looking away. Draco turned to look at Vincent, seeing that he was absorbed with the newspaper. To his horror, he found that there was a small add in the corner of the Prophet, 'Exclusive Interview' and 'Potter' standing out clearly.

"What's so interesting?" the blonde snapped, peeved that Harry Potter had stolen his limelight so effortlessly.

Vincent hesitated before looking up at his irritable friend, "The article says that," looking down at the text, he read from the paper, "'according to the extent of the damage, whatever caused it shouldn't have been destroyed completely by the explosion and there should have at least still been a carcass of some sort left'," looking back up at Draco, he continued, "It's like someone went in and removed the evidence or something."

The blonde raised an eyebrow, taking another bite out of his toast, becoming pensive. Vincent went back to his paper and Pansy tugged persistently at Draco's sleeve. He turned back to her, about to snap at her too before she pushed a cup of tea into his hand. He looked at it and decided it compensated for Pansy's annoying habits. Unfortunately, it only stood as a distraction to give Pansy a chance to interrogate him.

"Where were you if you weren't in your bed, Draco?"

He rolled his eyes, "It's none of your business, Pansy."

"It is too!" she insisted, "I thought you had died! What would I do?"

"You'd cope," he drawled, pushing away his tea and standing up, leaving for class as the bell rang.

-

Light snores could be heard around Professor Binns' History of Magic classroom, as his dreary voice and lack of attention paid to his students allowed the class to catch up on their sleep, daydreaming or homework. Draco wasn't about to be caught _sleeping_ in public, however his friends seemed to think otherwise, and he found that behind him Crabbe and Goyle were passed out on their desks. To his left, Pansy was doodling sickly love-hearts with Draco's name in them on her notepaper, occasionally looking up to batter her eyelashes at him in an attempt to… flirt? Look cute? He didn't have a clue.

He looked away from the pug-faced girl. Unfortunately, to his right was one Harry Potter. He scowled at the back of his head, which the boy wonder must have picked up on because he turned his head around to stare at Draco that very moment.

"What do _you_ want?" the Slytherin hissed.

"Enjoying the attention, Malfoy?"

"Same could be said to you, Potter."

The Gryffindor snorted, whispering back, "I didn't _ask_ to be interviewed. You're the one who was bloody parading around yesterday."

"I did **not** _parade_."

"Could have fooled me."

"You need your glasses checked."

"You need your _ego_ checked."

Draco was about to retort when Binns cleared his throat. The two boys looked to the front, expecting to be in trouble, but the ghost hadn't even noticed their quiet quarrel.

"And so he concluded, with a quote now famous amongst us historians, 'Destruction is a form of Creation'."

The rivals did not continue their dispute in order to contemplate this quote as it stuck deep in the back of their minds.

-

That night Draco dreamt of the school's corridors. He could see the halls as if they stretched on for miles- the roof was gone. Instead, the open sky was above his head, white clouds rushing by as if in a storm or videotape being fast-forwarded. There was no wind, although there was a ripple in the water- water was everywhere. The floors were submerged in what seemed to be a rushing river, the walls floating along as if they were boats and not heavy stone that would under normal circumstances inevitably sink down into the depths of the water only to be eroded to nothing over the centuries.

Draco Malfoy sat up from his bed in his temporary room. He had been told what to do.

-

For the second time that week, there was a commotion in the Great Hall as the students chatted wildly, shrieks filling the air as the gossip was relayed to easily excited pupils. Draco sat calmly at the Slytherin table with an air of indifference around him, buttering his own toast, as Pansy was far too busy gossiping about last night's events with Millicent Bulstrode, who had just gotten back from interrogating a Ravenclaw. He had heard a few frequent words being thrown through the air, 'flood' being the most common, but decided to ignore the majority of the gossip to get a solid, more trustworthy report from his friends first.

Pansy whipped back around to Draco, visibly excited to get to be the first to relay the account of events to the popular (…er, well, amongst his peers at least) Slytherin, "Right, well apparently somebody axed open a water mains pipe in the toilets on the fourth floor- you know, the one Montague eventually turned up in last year, after he went missing- and it's flooded the majority of the dungeons and the rest just ran out the entrance hall's front doors onto the grounds, which has pretty much turned it into a bog…"

"I was wondering why the halls were wet," Draco mused aloud, "I figured it was just Peeves…"

The dark-haired girl continued, "Well, that's what's everyone thought, since he pulled a similar stunt last year- until they found the axe. It was embedded in the forehead of the gargoyle that sits outside of Dumbledore's office! And as much as he hates to admit it, Peeves has _some_ respect for Dumbledore… plus, according to Filch, he was busy painting curse words and rude stick men onto Professor Trelawney's crystal balls with permanent ink last night."

"So the gossip is that it was a student… but the strange thing is that none of the portraits or ghosts saw who did it. You can't just go _invisible_, you know?"

At that thought, the blonde suddenly remembered an event from third year. He had been harassing Ron Weasley, when suddenly he, Crabbe and Goyle were pelted with handfuls of mud- and shortly after, he had seen Harry Potter's head floating in mid air- as if his body were _invisible_. He had reported this to his father the following summer; only to be told about invisibility cloaks and how James Potter was infamous for harassing Slytherins (namely Severus Snape) with the use of his. It was inevitable that the cloak would end up in his son's hands eventually.

So, if Potter had an Invisibility Cloak (which were outrageously rare and expensive, according to his father after he requested one as a gift- so it was unlikely anyone else had one in the school) and no one had seen the perpetrator… Draco sat back smugly, ignoring Pansy once again as he searched across the Great Hall to fix his nemesis with his standard glare, this time accompanied with a knowing smirk. Harry raised an eyebrow at him in reply. Draco snorted, looking back down at his breakfast. Harry's innocent act wouldn't last long- the Slytherin was going to Professor Snape straight after he finished his meal.

Said Professor stopped the blonde as he stood up to leave the hall. Recognising the firm grip of pale, bony fingers, Draco turned to greet him politely.

"Ah, Professor, I wanted to speak with you…" the words died in his mouth as he saw the stern look on the man's face- Draco recognised it as his head of house trying his hardest to control his rage.

"Not right now, _Malfoy_," Draco flinched at the use of his surname, "I have to escort you to Dumbledore's office. _Now._"

Draco paled noticeably as Snape's strong hand steered the boy out of the Great Hall. If Draco had the nerve to look up, he would have seen that Professor McGonagall was confronting Harry Potter at that precise moment, wearing a similar expression to the Potion Master's.

-

The two rivals didn't have the guts to even glance at each other as they were seated into hard oak chairs, their heads of house standing directly behind them, arms crossed. Dumbledore, the Headmaster, sighed lethargically whilst removing his glasses from his weary eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He did not offer either boy the contents of his sweet tray- peppermint creams shaped like toads and an assortment of brightly coloured Jelly Slugs that seemed to still be moving- however, under the circumstances the colours seemed dull and unappealing. Draco felt sick with anxiety, unaccustomed to being in a predicament like this (Slytherins were known for their cunning and he generally slipped out of situations before problems arose). Harry, however was merely feeling awkward. McGonagall in a rage was one thing, but since the start of term he had not been on the best of terms with Dumbledore.

The bearded man sighed heavily, rubbing at his eyes before replacing his half-moon spectacles on his nose as he spoke, his words predictable to Harry, "First off, is there anything you two would wish to tell me…?"

The boys remained silent. The headmaster wasn't especially expecting a reply and continued swiftly, "I'm sure you have heard of the events that took place last night. Not only have the dungeons been flooded, but also considerable damage had been dealt to the Potions classrooms and the Slytherin, Hufflepuff and Kitchen portraits. The school body is unaware of this as the corridor it is in has been blocked off, but a hall has been graffitted, similarly to your second year, with… what was it, Minerva?"

McGonagall cleared her throat, "It read, '_They made me do it'_."

"Yes. And finally, the Gargoyle that has bravely protected the headmaster's office for centuries has been desecrated in an obvious sign of disrespect with an axe found in its head."

Dumbledore sighed, obviously impatient, "Once again, I ask you, is there anything you wish to tell me?"

Draco snuck a glance at Harry- the boy looked like he was about to say something for a split second, but then decided against it, remaining silent.

"We had the prefects do a headcount and all students were found in their beds last night, save two," the old man's voice was disappointed, "Mr.Malfoy, Mr.Potter, is there any reason for your absence from your beds last night?"

Both boys blanched.

"B-but sir," Draco started, "How would the other prefects know if I was in bed or not…?"

"In your case, Mr. Malfoy, your room's portrait had left its frame for unknown reasons, and upon returning reported that its frame was crooked, a sign that you had either entered or exited while your portrait was absent- which was during the time the crimes were committed."

"But no one saw who did it, Sir! And Potter has an Invisibility Cloak!"

Harry jumped, staring at Draco in disbelief. How did he know…? Could he have possibly remembered from third year?

"I am well aware of that, however it does not explain either if your absences from bed when the school was being flooded. So, until one of you explain where you were after hours or confess to the crime, you are both on detention until Christmas-"

The boys' reactions were identical as they leaped out of their seats, "WHAT!" Snape and McGonagall had to push them back down firmly into their chairs.

"- every other night, and depending on your progress and _behaviour_, I may extend that date further," he looked coolly at the boys, "Any questions?"

Harry looked up slowly, "Sir" he bit out, trying to clip his temper, "What about Quidditch? And will house points be taken off?"

"Your house points will be left alone for now," Snape and McGonagall's faces relaxed, if only a little, "However your teams will have to practice without you if detention times conflict with practice times."

Harry nodded, and Draco sat there, expression less worried now.

"Finally, for these detentions you will not be allowed the use of wands. To fully appreciate the damage that has been caused, all cleaning and repairing will be done by hand."

"Like _muggles_!" Draco exclaimed, obviously disgusted by the thought.

"You will be using wizarding products, so not so much as a muggle but as a squib."

Draco was still obviously disgruntled at the notion.

"Your first detention will be tonight at 7pm. Meet outside Filch's office then and he will lead you to the hallway where you will be scrubbing clean the graffiti. For now, you are dismissed. Please return to class."

The boys stood, turning to leave as Dumbledore called out, "Minerva, Severus, I'd like a word."

The two left down the stairs of Dumbledore's office in silence. As they exited into the empty corridors (everyone was in class at the moment), Harry spun around, slamming Draco into the hall's hard stone wall, his grip tight on the collar of his robes as he leant close to him.

He hissed to him so that only he could hear, despite there being no-one around, "I know you did it. I followed you. I watched you do it. Don't get smug with yourself, because it's only a matter of time before you're caught out."

The dark-haired teen gave him another hard shove against the wall to accentuate his threat, before turning and stalking off towards his first class. Draco hadn't the mind to think of anything to shout at Harry's retreating back, because he was scared.

Scared, because he couldn't remember where he was last night, or more importantly, what he did…

-

Later that afternoon during lunch, Draco headed back down to the dungeons where his temporary room was. The staff had already spent the morning draining majority of the dungeons, specifically the level students used regularly to get to potions or their dorms, however there were still levels below this which were completely submerged in water. As Draco pulled up his sleeves to wash his hands (Pansy had held them earlier, and for some reason he felt a bit dirty now), he stared at the ink on his left arm, perplexed once again. It read _'26 days'_. He had no idea how the writing had gotten there, or how it had _changed_. Two days ago, after he woke up _not_ in his dorm to find out it had been crashed into, was when he first noticed the writing on his arm, and it had said _'28 days'_ then.

He popped his pills out of the packet (this was the reason why he had come downstairs) and looked up into the mirror, throwing them into the back of his mouth and swallowing. Two days ago, when he had first noticed his arm… was also when he first started seeing _him_.

"Don't worry. You got away with it."

Draco whipped around, punching straight forward- his fist was blocked by an invisible barrier, inches away from _his_ revolting, warped face. It didn't look like a face, more like a strange mask of a rabbit, with twisted features painted in murky, cold colours. Draco couldn't tell if it was _his_ real face or a disguise. In his current state, Draco didn't care. He panted heavily, pulling back his fist to punch him again. And again. And again. Not once did his fist make contact with flesh, always stopping…

"_Frank_," Draco didn't know how he knew his name- he woke up and it was just _there_, in his head, "Potter knows!"

Frank cocked his head to the side in a jerky, sick motion, "I can do anything I want. So can you."

"Why'd you make me flood the school?" his fist stopped against the barrier. His eyes were glazed over.

"They're in great danger."

"Where'd you come from." It should have been a question, but it left the blonde's mouth as a statement.

"Do you believe in time travel?"

A loud ringing pierced into the depths of Draco's mind. Frank disappeared. Draco jumped back in fright, bumping into the bathroom counter. It was the school bell, the sound now faint, how it should be. He sighed, running a hand through his hair, before pushing himself away from the counter and heading to his next class.

-

It was five past seven and Draco was leaning against the wall outside of Filch's office, glancing at his pocket watch. He had been waiting there for ten minutes, and so far there was no sign of Filch or Potter. He scowled at the wall opposite- Potter had some nerve threatening him earlier. If the green-eyed boy really did have any solid proof of Draco axing the water pipe, then why didn't he just say so then and there in Dumbledore's office? It seemed rather fishy to him, seeing as Draco _didn't_ flood the school- or at least, as far as he was concerned, if he didn't _remember_ doing it then he flat out _didn't_ do it.

He glanced up at the sound of footsteps- as soon as he recognised the person as Harry, he sneered in his direction, "So our school's favourite celebrity thinks that he can show up late to detention then?"

"Shut it, Malfoy," Harry came into the low lighting being cast from a single torch outside of Filch's office, "Filch isn't even here yet."

"I hope it's because he's away arranging for us to have separate detentions. I don't want to be stuck with you for the rest of the night."

The dark-haired teen rolled his eyes, "You've probably gone and jinxed us now by saying that. Thanks."

"You're the one who's probably jinxed it by saying that I've jinxed it, Potter."

"You're talking a load of rubbish."

"You're just too uneducated to understand."

There was a tinkling of a bell as Mrs. Norris padded down the hallway towards them, a limping Filch following behind her by a few metres. The boys stopped their pointless bickering to avoid any trouble with Filch as the man limped up to them, unlocking his classroom door as he sneered at the boys- much more intensely than Draco had, Harry noticed, but then decided he was just used to Draco, and Filch's ugly face just made his expression all the worse.

"The buckets are there," the caretaker pointed at two heavy pails filled nearly to the top with a water-like substance, "There's sponges at the bottom. You'll have to fish them out yourself," he stared at the two boys, who stood there _looking_ at the containers.

"Well?" he snapped, "Pick them up! Let's get a move on!"

The boys groaned and picked up a pail each, Draco especially reluctant as they followed Filch out of his office and towards the hallway where the supposed graffiti was. When they got there, they found a gigantic, rather ominous looking white sheet draped across the floor.

"It's under there," Filch huffed, "You're here until it's gone," he stuck out a grubby hand expectantly at the boys, "Wands."

Draco groaned- he had obviously been planning on their walk to the hall, his shoulder aching from the weight of the bucket, that he'd just use some magic to clear up the mess. He had either forgotten that his wand was to be taken from him, or was hoping that Filch would simply forget. Both boys were equally reluctant to hand their wands over to the caretaker, however they had no choice.

As Filch limped away, Harry crouched down next to the white sheet, peeling it off the ground as it was stuck down by something like spellotape. After getting one side off, he gave the sheet a strong tug and the rest of it flew to his side, floating gracefully to the ground as he stared at the writing scrawled across the ground.

It was in black ink, however it seemed to stand out against the dark stone floor as if it was in white. Harry shivered- it was, as Dumbledore had said, uncannily like the message scrawled in blood from his second year by Ginny Weasley. He tore his gaze away to kick the sheet to the side, before dropping his school robes next to it and pulling off his grey jumper. Draco gave him a dubious look as the Gryffindor started to roll his sleeves up, but said nothing as he plunged his bare arm into the bucket of murky water, pulling out a squirming sponge that he had to shoot out his second hand to catch as it was trying to get away from him with the ferocity of a caught mouse.

Harry quickly lost his patience with the sponge and slammed it into the ground, earning a faint whine from it as it oozed out water and ceased it's squirming. Harry raised an eyebrow- well that was one way of putting some elbow grease into it. He tested his theory and loosened the pressure on the sponge fractionally- immediately it began to squirm again. Throwing his other hand on top, he pushed down once again, starting to scrub at the top of the '_T_' from '_They'_.

Draco stood back, watching Harry with mild distaste, "I heard you live in a broom cupboard with your muggles. Used to this kind of work, being treated like a house-elf?"

Harry gave him a dirty look, "Actually, I have my own room," before turning back to the graffiti and continuing, "If you start from the '_e'_ in '_made'_, then that's the work split in half."

Draco seemed to ignore him; "I have my own room, although it's nearly the size of three if you include the en-suite bathroom. Father tells me not to brag, but I enjoy making you feel pathetically poor and unfortunate."

"Good for you," Harry had barely been listening to him, and he sat back, looking at his work- it now said _Ihey made me do it_, but his arm was sore as hell from pressing so hard, "Are you going to do any work or not?"

"How about _not_, Potter? What do you take me for, a house-elf like you?"

"Seeing as _you're_ the one who got us this detention, _you_ should do at least some work!"

"And _who_ was out of bed after hours, Potter? I think you can only blame yourself."

"Will you shut up and do some bloody work!"

"Do it yourself!"

SPLAT. Draco blinked as the wet sponge slicked down his face, it now starting to squirm wildly before hopping off and flopping around on the floor like a fish out of water. It took Draco a moment to come to terms with the fact that- yes- Harry Potter had thrown the manky sponge at his- Draco Malfoy's- face.

"Oh, _that's it_."

To put it plainly, Draco _launched_ himself at Harry, the two falling back against the stone floor and throwing blind punches, knuckles often meeting stone as they grappled and rolled around, struggling for dominance in the fight. However, the Slytherin didn't stand a chance. After years of fighting with Dudley and his goons, Harry had picked up some tricks and had much more hand-to-hand experience. Draco, who normally had Crabbe and Goyle do his dirty work for him, had next to none, and found himself by the wrists to the cold stone floor in a matter of minutes. He glared up at the Gryffindor, however made no comment (as anything he said could be far too easily countered in his position) and he received an equally filthy look back.

Harry tugged hard on Draco's wrists, moving them up above his head so he could keep them pinned down with one hand. He wasn't much stronger than the blonde, and this would have been a bit harder had Draco not let him move, as the Slytherin was far too curious what the boy was about to do- if he punched him, Harry would get in trouble and Draco would have the limelight once again.

Draco winced as Harry pulled his arm back. On second thought, he'd like to keep his face how it is, thanks. He whined and squirmed under the other boy, eyes shut tight waiting for the blow-

And instead he had the familiar feeling of a squirming sponge being smothered into his face. Harry had simply moved his arm to grab the bouncing sponge with the expertise of a seeker, and hadn't planned on punching him after all.

"Now help out, you selfish git," the dark haired boy huffed, getting off his rival and heading off to retrieve the second sponge.

And Draco didn't complain, not even when Harry left him with eight letters to clean instead of seven.

* * *

Please leave me reviews! I won't update unless I know that enough people are reading this and enjoying it- even one or two word reviews are great. :D 


	3. Ruptured Waterway

The next evening, Harry and Draco had the night off of detention. After dinner, Draco returned to the Slytherin common room. Sitting back in a leather armchair as if he owned the place (well, according to him, he pretty much did in his 6th year of school), it was only a matter of time before his housemates were drawn towards him. First to come was Crabbe and Goyle, who started to have an arm wrestle, and next came Pansy who sat precariously on the arm of Draco's chair, trying to will up the nerve to slip onto Draco's lap (who would inevitably push her off). Blaise Zabini sauntered in and started a conversation with Draco to Pansy's displeasure, and eventually the rest of the sixth years drifted in, followed by a few bold fifth years.

A joke was thrown around and after a good round of laugher, one sixth year boy piped up, "Oi, Malfoy! Where were you last night? You missed Campbell's joke about this fish farmer…"

Suddenly everyone tuned in, and Draco, who had hardly paid attention to who it was that had asked him the question in the first place suddenly found himself in the position of having to reply as the room was silently waiting for his answer.

"Detention," he replied smoothly, nonchalantly inspecting his cuticles.

Pansy gawked, bursting out with "Why?! What did you do?!"

"_**I**_ didn't do anything," Draco lounged back in the leather chair- he was revelling in the attention already, "It's Potter's fault."

"Ugh, Potter _again_!" somebody murmured from the surrounding crowd. There were nods and sounds of agreement all around.

"Well?" Pansy looked at Draco expectantly.

Draco simply rolled his eyes at her behaviour and continued, "So apparently Potter and I were the only ones in the school who were out of the bed the other night when the school was flooded. This, according to them, clearly means that one of us is the culprit."

"Why _were_ you out of bed, Draco? Did you do it?" Pansy cooed at him, as if she'd be impressed if he had.

Draco ignored her first question, "No, unfortunately. The axe was genius, however naïve. And do you honestly think I'm so uncreative as to resort to copying one of Peeve's old pranks?"

"So Potter did it then," Blaise said pointedly.

Draco nodded, "He seems to be in a tiff with Dumbledore right now so it'd make sense. But he's been trying to accuse _me_ of it- going all 'I saw you do it' on me! What nerve, bloody stupid Gryffindork."

"Well, at least your detention is done and over with then," piped up Goyle.

Draco stared at him, "You're joking, right? I'm on detention every second night until Christmas if he hasn't owned up by then."

There were shrieks of injustice around the blonde Slytherin which quickly dissolved into their usual moan and rant about Potter, which lead onto other Gryffindors, then onto other houses before someone ended up shouting, "But he's not as bad as Potter!" and it all started again from the beginning. Draco sat with a coy little smile on his face- he was in the limelight amongst his peers again, the only advantage to these damned detentions.

-

The next night, Harry and Draco stood across from each other once again outside Filch's office, scowling at each other. The fact that they had successfully removed the graffiti from the floor during their last detention meant they wouldn't be doing that again, but instead it left the uncertainty of what was to come tonight. Neither boy worried about it, simply hoping that the detentions would be separate (however they didn't voice this) and thus they glared at each other in hopes that doing so would somehow increase the chance of this.

Filch, once again, was late. He lumbered down the hallway, merely grunted at the two boys before fishing a rusty old key out of his pocket and unlocking his office and entering. The boys followed without being asked. Inside, Filch fell down into a large armchair and pointed at a large tub of a strange, gritty paste that had a strange yellowish tint to it. Next to it was an equally big tub of old wizarding newspapers. On the side of the tub was a large label with writing on it, "Instructions for Use" in big bold letters at the top. Moving pictures below it demonstrated the processes. Filch barked at the boys to pick up the tubs, and Draco darted for the paper, as he didn't want the mess and weight involved with the paste. Harry picked up the paste tub grudgingly, glaring at Draco as Filch told them they were to repair the burst water pipe in the bathroom on the 3rd floor. Draco and Harry just kind of stood there, expecting him to get up and lead them there, but instead Filch just yelled at them to get a move on, before half standing out of his chair only to pluck Harry and Draco's wands out of their back pockets. Draco swore to himself and marched out of the office quickly, followed by running Harry who was trying to escape an enraged Filch who was daring Draco to repeat what he had said.

The two rounded a corner and ran up a staircase before slowing down and stopping as they waited for a moving staircase to switch to their platform.

Draco scowled at the staircase as it moved slowly to another platform, "Bloody hate Filch, he's a waste of space."

Harry snorted, "Got that right. I've never seen him do any good for the students before."

"It's a laugh when people get caught by him though. You'd have to be under the leg-locker curse to be outrun by him, like."

"Hmph. I'm surprised Pomfrey hasn't fixed his limp yet."

The blonde smirked, "She probably thinks he's a waste of space too."

Harry laughed aloud as the staircase in front of them came to a halt, and the boys headed upstairs in silence. It was only a short walk once they were on the third floor, and they were in front of the taped off door quickly. Balancing his container precariously against the wall, Harry quickly fiddled with the door to remove the tape and open it. Once it swung open, he wasted no time in entering.

Needless to say, the room was flooded. Although staff had turned off the water so the flooding would cease, it didn't necessarily mean they were going to clean up the mess- with a disgruntled look on his face, Draco rolled up his trousers to his knees before very reluctantly following Harry down the one step into the bathroom which was a foot deep in water.

Harry hadn't bothered arranging himself before entering the bathroom and the water was steadily creeping up his jeans past his knees. Trudging over to a sink, he placed his bucket on top, before beckoning Draco over to do the same. Draco stared at him for a moment, but his box was awfully heavy so he decided to comply. Just this once.

"The water's too deep to put these down on the ground safely, so we should find a way it drain out the bathroom first."

Draco frowned, looking away. As much as he wanted to hate the Gryffindork, he was pretty sensible and took charge to get the job done, which he couldn't complain about. He could probably tease him later, but the dark-haired boy hadn't been bossy enough to deserve it. The blonde watched as the other started to explore the room, and merely rolled his eyes. As much as he hated getting his shoes, socks and legs wet, it was too much fun seeing a half-soaked Harry wade around the bathroom aimlessly. He smirked to himself- he had read in an unorthodox version of "A History of Hogwarts" that every bathroom had a drain in a corner, as floods were inevitable in schools with teenage witches and wizards. All they had to do was find it and unclog it as it was probably covered in shrapnel from the burst pipe. Draco couldn't help snorting when Harry waded right past a dark, rather suspicious looking corner.

"What?!" Harry turned around to him, picking up on the snort and glaring, "You could be trying to help, you know!"

Draco rolled his eyes, "But it's _so_ much fun watching you suffer."

Harry sighed, turning away from Draco, and very conveniently facing the mysterious corner again. Raising an eyebrow, he rolled his sleeves up and bent over (Draco was amused to see the water had nearly reached his back jean pockets by travelling up his jeans- why he was looking at Harry's ass was a mystery even to himself), fishing the shrapnel up and out of the water. As soon as he did, the water started to swirl around that corner and was effectively getting drained away. Harry, quite pleased with himself, dropped the scrap metal into a sink to keep it out of the way before smirking at Draco triumphantly. Draco didn't notice, as he was too busy trying to shake the water out of his shoes.

The boys waited a good 10 minutes in silence as the water slowly drained away. Sitting on sinks to keep (or in Harry's case, attempt to become) dry, Draco was now wringing out his socks and Harry was just looking miserably at his trousers. One reason for his misery was that he was feeling uncomfortable as the water settled between his jeans and his skin. The silence was the other thing- he was so used to him and Draco bickering; the quiet was just… weird. Harry must have been faintly hoping that Draco would be driven mad by it and own up to the crime just to get out of the awkward detentions. Draco might have been thinking along the same lines had he not been pouting about being wet.

Finally when the water had cleared away, Harry hopped down from his seat and lifted his bucket of pasty-sludge down to the ground next to the busted pipe. He looked at Draco expectantly, who was paying _no_ attention what so ever. Harry cleared his throat.

"What?" The Slytherin gave him a dirty look.

"Mind bringing your bucket over here?" Harry's voice was annoyed.

"Do it yourself," the boy sneered back at him.

"Do we need a repeat of the last detention…?" Harry continued his threat by glancing at the sludge, "I don't have a sponge, but this crap's thick enough to lob at your face without one."

Draco scowled at him; getting off his sink and picking up his crate of paper, "Don't think you can boss me around like some sort of dominatrix, Potter."

Harry snorted, "Well you're acting pretty damn submissive, Malfoy."

Well_, those_ insults were awkward. They scowled at each other before turning away in a defiant turn of the head. The green-eyed boy crouched down next to his plastic crate and watched the moving instructions a few times before turning to Draco and pointing them out. It was fairly simple, like the muggle craft "Paper Maché". You dip the strips of paper in the goo, slick off the excess and lay if across the hole in the pipe. The final instructions had been ripped off and faded slightly, so weren't as clear, but Harry assumed from what was there that it was something like "wait until dry".

Sitting between the bucket and water main, he started the process, laying two strips before sighing heavily and giving Draco a fed up look. Draco stared at the goo, before looking back at Harry.

"Do you _seriously_ expect me to touch _that_?"

Harry rolled his eyes, "I'm sorry _princess_, but yes, you'll have to get your dainty little hands dirty."

The Slytherin crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to budge, so the Gryffindor scooped up a handful of the sludge and looked at it thoughtfully, "I was right, I _don't_ need a sponge for this…"

A growl resounded from Draco's throat as he dropped to his knees across from Harry, rolling up his sleeves and picking up a slip of paper. The taller boy smirked at him before dropping the handful back into the rest of the tub, resisting a comment about Draco being scared of getting it in his hair. He was sure he had over-used that one.

The task was carried out in silence. About an hour later, they were nearing the completion of the pipe, and they were going crazy from the awkwardness of the quiet atmosphere. It just wasn't _normal_. They were just so used to arguing. Harry slapped on one last strip to the pipe and got up, announcing he was going to wait for it to dry now. Draco stood without a word, stretching and giving his hands a shake, before turning to go wash his hands in the sink. Harry had settled for wiping his hands on his damp jeans.

"So."

Draco glanced up at the statement, making eye contact with the Gryffindor through the mirror, "So what?"

"So what now?" Draco was about to snap at him that they were to wait, but he realised that he didn't especially want to do that with Harry as his only company- luckily, the brunette continued, "You're not exactly the best conversation in Hogwarts, and I don't especially fancy spending the next how many hours sitting here with you. So can we just leave and come back to this in an hour or something?"

Draco turned off the tap, flicking the water off his hands as he turned back around to Harry, "For once I think you might just have a decent idea, Potter."

Harry grinned triumphantly, turning around and heading straight to the door- before stopping and swearing loudly. The blonde raised an eyebrow, following to see what the fuss was about.

The door was a wall. As in, there was no door there anymore.

"This is a joke."

Where the door once stood, there was a sign, _"You shall not leave until the pipe has been fixed and the water is running!"_

Both boys groaned.

-

An hour or so later, the silence was overpowering. Harry had taken to whistling for a short while; sitting on the tank of one of the toilets while letting his trousers drip-dry over the closed door of the cubicle he was in. Draco had snapped at him to stop his "tuneless racket" twice… maybe three times, Harry couldn't be bothered trying to remember. It really wasn't important.

Draco sighed for what must have been the fiftieth time, and watched with interest as the slightly damp jeans were pulled down from the top of the cubicle (he had considered stealing them, but he didn't exactly want to be chased around the tiny bathroom by a Gryffindor in his boxers). Harry stepped out moments later, dressed in the clothes again, mouth drawn into a firm line.

"I don't think they dried much."

"Well, yes, considering they're _jeans_, Potter… what'd you expect?"

The brunette shrugged, and headed over to the pipe, tapping it with his knuckles- it was rock hard, "I bet we could turn the water on now."

The blonde slipped off of the sink onto his feet, "Thank god. I'm sick of this room."

Heading over to the wheel sticking out of the wall, Harry raised an eyebrow at it, "I think this triggers the water flow…" it seemed like something he had seen in a muggle movie once. Gripping it with both hands, he gave it a sharp turn- or at least, he _tried _to, because it didn't budge.

Swearing under his breath, he tried turning it once more- still, nothing. He placed his foot on the wall next to him as leverage, putting all of his weight into it- still nothing. Draco rolled his eyes and watched him, amused as he struggled with the metal dial. The Gryffindor turned around and scowled at him, before beckoning him over to help. The Slytherin was reluctant, but taking into consideration all of the times the other had managed to blackmail him into helping out, he eventually strolled over without complaint. Placing his hands on the wheel, he too put his weight into turning the wheel.

There was a long, slow groaning of gears and the wheel turned suddenly, throwing the boys off balance and into a heap on the floor. Harry sat up immediately, jumping back to the wheel to turn it along farther. Draco was slower to get up, but he froze once he squinted open his eyes (they had shut at some point during the small tumble with the green-eyed boy)- the pipe… it was…

"Stop!! STOP! Turn it off!" scrambling up, the Slytherin darted back to the pipe, shoving his hands over the small fist-sized hole that had popped open and started to gush with water violently. Harry quickly noticed what was happening and quickly turned the wheel the opposite way (it seemed once it got over the first rusty turn, he could move the dial by himself), successfully shutting the water supply off.

Turning around, Harry sighed, "Jeez, I wasn't expecting th…tha…" snorting, he brought a hand to his face to cover his gleeful smirk at the sight of Draco Malfoy soaked to the bone.

"You think this is funny?!" the Slytherin whipped around, soaked sweatshirt and trousers clinging to his body and making movement awkward, "You moron! The pipe wasn't ready yet! There weren't enough layers! You stupid, impatient Gryffindork! This is _all your fault_ and now I'm _soaked_…"

Harry sniggered aloud, "You never exactly said anything to stop me beforehand… and you _are_ the one who ran at the leak willingly. Honestly, someone would think you were a girl with the way you act about getting wet—"

He didn't get to finish his taunt, because with a slow and heavy _SLICK_ and a **SPLODGE**, Draco stood back with an empty plastic container in his hand, the paper-maché-like goo completely covering Harry from top to bottom. It seemed the Slytherin's fuse was especially short after being stuck in this bathroom with the Gryffindor for so long…

And it wasn't even seconds before the boys were on the floor, grappling and throwing poor punches at each other like their last detention. The victor was decided in moments- there was no competition, like the last time, and Harry had come out on top once again.

Pinning Draco's wrists to the wet stone floor to stop any more attacks, Harry scowled at him, "We need this stuff to repair the pipe, you idiot! And now it's all over me--" there were a few plopping noises as drips of goo slicked off of Harry and down onto Draco- it was at this point he realised throughout all the grappling Draco had his fair share of sludge on him now too.

Sitting back, Harry got off of Draco who sat up slowly, "Look. Let's just repair this hole and give the whole pipe one more layer. Leave it, turn the water back on and get out of here. I'm desperate for a shower."

Draco mumbled, "Likewise," under his breath, dragging the box of paper strips back towards them- they were lucky there were still quite a few left.

A little over an hour later, they stood in front of the water wheel again, anxious. They were somewhat awkward around each other now- they had ran out of the paper-maché "stuff" and Draco, after much reluctance and mumbled curse words, had to resort to scooping chunks of the goo off of Harry. The first time he simply smacked him across the face to get a hand of it from his cheek. This nearly lead to a scuffle, but Draco quickly explained he was just getting some goo off of the boy- Harry scowled but didn't start anything. But as time went on he found he couldn't acquire the glue-like substance off of Harry so aggressively, and found he had to pick chunks of it out of the boy's fine hair. Needless to say it was strange- almost embarrassing for the both of them.

And now, they desperately wanted _out_ and _away_ from each other. They both gripped onto the wheel and turned it sharply- there was a rushing of water but no leak. Their expressions lightening considerably, they jumped away from the dial and looked to the door- yes, the door, no wall, no sign.

Harry whooped with delight and smacked Draco on the shoulder in a way of thanks before darting out the door for the nearest prefect's bathroom (he wasn't one, but he knew the passwords regardless). Draco shook his head and did the same, glad to finally be out of the detention with the stupid Gryffindor.

-

Three days later, Harry found himself in a bathroom once again. He had another long and tiresome detention with Draco the night before- this time they managed **not** to get into a fistfight. Bending over a sink, he splashed water on his face to wake himself up- this was his fifth day since he started his detentions with the Slytherin.

The entire school had known about the detentions by now, and they hadn't even gotten to his fourth one yet (it was tomorrow). He placed the gossip as being Draco's fault- after all, Harry had only told Ron and Hermione about his detentions and the reason behind them (and of course, he stressed his innocence and how he caught Draco in the act), and they weren't the type to spread rumours like wild fire. Slytherins, on the other hand...

Harry sighed, reaching out to the paper towel dispenser and tugging out the napkins to dry his face, glasses placed carefully on the bathroom sink. It hadn't even been a week and he was already starting to feel the detentions invading his social and school life- he had to stay up until nearly 4AM the previous night to finish homework he would have normally been doing when he was in his detention with Draco... And then of course he had that weird dream again, the one about the chamber of secrets, the one where he'd wake up in the morning with his scar moist with blood. He had somehow managed to struggle through most of his classes, but he had passed out completely in History of Magic and he started to snooze at the Gryffindor table during lunch.

Still groggy, and not especially expecting anything out of the ordinary to happen, he did not notice as the bathroom door swung closed and a figure neared him. He pulled the paper towel away from his face just in time to be jerked back against a lean body, slightly larger than his- but he wasn't interested in that, because his attention was stolen by the cool metal pressed against his throat. Only his heart moved, slamming against his ribcage- his breath would have quickened had it not hitched in his throat.

"_Potter,_" came the sneer- a voice he did not recognise, "Because of you, Malfoy is going to be missing his quidditch practices. If Slytherin lose their next game against Gryffindor…"

Harry hissed- the blade pressed into his neck. It stung and it felt warm- blood. He did not fear for his life, he knew from the boy's previous words that this was merely a threat, no more, yet he could not stop his hands from trembling. He caught sight of himself in the mirror- however even if he had been wearing his glasses, he would have not been able to identify his attacker. From the blur, he could tell that he had his hood up, covering the top half of his face.

"Lose the next game, or you _know_ what will happen."

The male pulled back, shoving Harry forward into the sinks. The Gryffindor collapsed, knees weak, grabbing onto the sink for support, the mixture of nerves and relief making him shake and feel ill. By the time he groped around for his glasses and put them back on, the hooded boy was gone. There was a streak of red down the front of his throat.

He cleaned up and dabbed at the scab on his neck, a near expert at dealing with small wounds like these now. After all, he had been cleaning his forehead every other morning since the middle of the summer. Once certain that his throat wasn't bleeding anymore (it was just a small nick, like a razor scab, nothing serious) he left the bathroom, the decision of what to do about quidditch floating around in his mind, seriously dampening his mood.

-

The next evening was their fourth detention together. It had been rather uneventful so far- both of the boy's attitudes seemed to have been changing towards each other. They had grudgingly accepted the fact that they were stuck on these detentions together and fighting would just make them worse- and if they were caught, the detentions would most likely be extended _past_ Christmas.

Draco sighed heavily, rolling up his sleeves to get started on the second task of the night's detention. They were cleaning up a storage room damaged by the floodwater- the goods had been removed and repaired magically already, but they were being left with the (entirely pointless, he thought) job of cleaning the walls and floor. Folding his grey sleeve up at his elbow to keep it from sliding down his arm further, he caught sight of black ink on his arm- _20 days_.

20 days until _what_, exactly? He knew it involved Frank somehow, and that it was important, something not to be taken lightly. He needed to find out more about the strange things he was experiencing. But who could he ask? He knew it was a curse of some sort- but if he went to the infirmary about it he might be sent to St. Mungo's as a result. There was no way a _Malfoy_ would go to _St.Mungo's_. His father would have his head on a platter!

There was only one thing he could do. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, unrolling his left sleeve back to his wrist to hide the enchanted ink- he was going to have to find out what it was himself through the books in the library. However he knew straight away that something like _this_ wouldn't be found in the normal parts of the library. He'd have to go to the restricted section. He could probably ask for permission from Snape, but not only was Snape still cross with him, he didn't want to risk him asking about what the permission was for, which could possibly lead to Snape supervising his entry to the section or him choosing to get the book for Draco himself. He didn't know how Snape would react at a time like this, so there was only one other way he could get into the Restricted Section undetected…

"Potter," He turned around, hand on his hip, waiting for the boy to look up from his cleaning and give him his attention, "You've been to the Restricted Section in the library before, haven't you?"

Harry turned around fully to Draco- of course he had, many times, but he couldn't think of a time that Draco could have come to know about him entering it. But he was curious about the boy's question, so he replied, "Might have."

"You got in with your Invisibility Cloak, didn't you."

Harry bit his lip for a moment- he hated to admit it, but his rival was smart, "Yeah, I did. I don't see why it's any of your business, though."

"I need to get a book from the Restricted Section. If you lend me your--"

Harry cut him off before he could even finish, "_No way._ Do you seriously think I'd lend _you_ my cloak?"

"But--" he was too used to getting his own way, and he had to realise he was dealing with an equal, someone he couldn't boss around. He shoved his hands in his pockets and scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground, "…fair point."

"What do you need from there, anyway?" Harry was curious now- maybe he could use this new information to his advantage…

"It's none of your business, Potter."

Oh, but Harry wasn't going to drop this now. He inspected his fingernails nonchalantly, feeling rather Slytherin-esque, "Perhaps I'd take you there myself…" Harry glanced at Draco- hope had escaped onto the blonde's face, "…if you confess to flooding the school."

Draco scowled- he should have expected this, "I can't do _that_."

"Then tell me _why_ you did it."

The boys fell silent, the proposal hanging in the air over them. The Gryffindor watched the Slytherin expectantly, waiting for his reply, whether it be in facial expressions or words. Draco bit his lip and clenched his fist- he only had 20 days left, just under three weeks… when would he next get a chance like this? He didn't _remember_ doing it, and so he didn't think he _did_ it, but after seeing Frank, he was starting to understand things weren't as straightforward as he hoped. He needed information fast, and if the only way he could get it was through Potter, then…

"Fine."

* * *

The reason why there was such a large gap between the first chapter and this one was that I was disappointed by the lack of reviews. If you don't review, I don't know that you're enjoying this, so I don't know if I should upload more or not! Please leave me reviews!  



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